Her Despair
by BG224
Summary: It was just another ghostly attribute. One that he didn’t talk about. After Spectra, he was afraid of the implications and was afraid that it made him less human. But yet, he gave into it. He kept up the “clueless” facade because it granted him the chance to revel in her despair, to feed off the strong emotions she gave off of heartbreak. It was addicting.


She was looking at him with those hopeful amethyst eyes again, her fingers entangled with his own. It certainly didn't feel like Tucker was next to him as she directed all her attention to him. God, he shouldn't be flirting with her. But it felt natural and right and if the circumstances were different, he would have reveled in it. He would love to admit his feelings for her. But he couldn't afford to do that. Because the taste of her despair was too good; it was unmatched.

It was just another ghostly attribute. One that he didn't talk about. After Spectra, he was afraid of the implications and was afraid that it made him less human. Everything was already making him feel less than human lately, and he didn't want to add fuel to the fire.

It was after a particularly long and draining battle that he discovered it, circa the time he was entertaining the idea of Valerie; flirting with the idea that he could do something more human, like have a relationship. Space was more grueling than he thought it would be (then again, he had always imagined his first excursion in space to be in the safety of an Extravehicular Mobility Unit (EMU), his very own spacesuit meant for exploration, not the hazmat suit he half died in). The anger he so normally felt when with Valerie in ghost form was exhilarating, a jolt of lightning that kept his ghost form in top condition, but he always assumed it was the rush of things. He never thought he was feeding off the emotions. So when he returned from Space, still with the intention of making Valerie his, he felt her dread tickling around his nostrils, tantalizing him. It had to be a fluke, right? He couldn't possibly be getting excited and rejuvenated as she brutally rejected him, could he? He had to test it out.

And there was Sam.

Beautiful, beautiful Sam that swallowed the lump in her throat when Valerie was around for his sake. His empathetic Goth that was always there for him. The Goth One to his Clueless One. He wondered if he could get her to feel sad for him, if he looked enough like a kicked puppy for that delicious taste of sadness to come back. And while she was empathetic, she looked more relieved than anything else. Irritation crossed his mind, but he knew her. He knew her to be the most empathetic person he could think of. Despite her protests that she was an indifferent person, he knew no one else that joined so many causes—_I don't eat anything with a face, Danny. Not only is it cruel to animals, but to the environment! How could I knowingly hurt so many things?_—so she obviously _cared _about things. And he would use that to his advantage.

So he gave her the ring and waited.

He almost forgot about his plan, too caught up in the fact that Sam had her eye on Gregor. It was almost cruel that he discovered that he liked her. Because the fear of losing her made him make a move.

He had begun to flirt with her. It was hesitant, like a baby bird peering over the lip of its nest, scared by the height. But she flirted back and it was all the reassurance he needed.

"Danny, give it _back_!"

He dangled her green scrunchie higher out of her reach, delighted that she was pressed up against him, one of her hands resting on his shoulder to support herself as she stood on her tippy toes to try and reach her accessory.

"Nah," he chuckled with a glint in his eye, looking down at her as she huffed a stray piece of her hair out of her eyes.

She untangled herself from him and stood with her hands on her hips, "fine, if that's the way you wanna do it." And without warning, she tackled him, the back of his knees hitting his bed, causing him to collapse back as she sprang on top of him, wiggling excessively against him as she tried to claw her way to the scrunchie that was still in his hands. With wide eyes and a growing blush he flipped them over so she was no longer straddling him and threw the scrunchie to the other side of the room in a last ditch effort. Her eyes followed the accessory and she made to go rush after it, but he pinned her arms, her hands above her head and his thighs holding her in place. She was gonna yell at him, but the words died in her throat as she realized how close their faces were from each other. She could taste his breath. This was the closest they had been in a while, considering his God forsaken growth spurt that caused him to tower over her small 5'5 frame at 6'1. She loathed the day he and Tucker became taller than her, more so because they used her as an armrest as they walked, but she never realized that it had been ages since she and Danny were face to face. She had to crane her neck up at him, yes, but she neglected to realize that his growth spurt meant she couldn't couldn't count the dusting of freckles he had on his face anymore. The tight spiral of ectoplasm that swirled in his eyes faintly. But she could see it now. Because he was an inch away. Her lips parted in surprise and her stomach knotted tightly as she watched his eyes dart to her lips. They went back and forth from her eyes to her lips back to her eyes and the butterflies grew faster.

'_Oh my God. I think he's gonna kiss me.'_

And her eyes were already fighting fluttering close and she could've sworn that she saw him get closer, and she readied herself because _oh my god Danny was gonna kiss her_. But it never came. He sprung back and asked her, "Did you know that your lipstick matches your eyes, like, perfectly? I never realized that before." And her heart broke. Because she thought this was the moment, but he laughed as he climbed off of her and went to the abandoned scrunchie on the floor. He slipped it on his wrist and waggled his brows at her, "Guess you're the loser this round, Sam."

And she managed a frustrated, tight-lipped smile in return. "Guess so."

He gave her his back as he rummaged through a door and she hastily tried to blink away tears because the brutal rejection was almost too much to bare. She was too distracted by her breathing exercise to notice the faint glow about him.

He reveled in the way her hope plummeted.

It was almost orgasmic. He struggled to not float up into the air as he absorbed her feelings into his skin, his nose and his mouth. It was the best thing he had ever tasted. And it all came because he was a coward; too afraid to risk their friendship and give into his desires and have Sam be his girlfriend. Her willingness to kiss him confirmed she wanted him too, but if he hadn't chickened out, he would never have tasted her despair—he would never have properly fed his ghost core.

He could feel his ghostly energy, even now, in human form, and he wondered if having Sam as his girlfriend was worth never tasting this despair again. He felt overwhelmingly powerful and it proved useful for the onslaught of ghost attacks that came later that night. He didn't even need sleep because of the energy boost she gave him, and he was always deprived of sleep. It made the idea of her losing hope more tantalizing.

With a shaky breath, he made his decision. Her negative emotions were too good to pass up. He would never admit to Sam that her feelings were returned.

But as the days passed, her despair waned and he realized that her normal state wasn't usually hopeful. She seldom thought her feelings were returned so she never got her hopes up. It was both heartbreaking to learn this because _God, he was an ass_, but also useful knowledge for his new scheme. Because to get that delicious despair back from her, to have it tickle his throat and surge his ghostly core, he would have to get her hopes up and then crush them.

So he flirted with her. He got her to flirt back. They got to the point that Tucker was visibly the third wheel at times, but he didn't seem to mind because he acted as their paparazzi of sorts he as simultaneously took photos and videos and gave the two subtle thumbs up when alone. The idea of them together made everyone so happy—Sam, Tucker, Jazz, his parents, _him_—that he almost did make a move many times. But the trickle of doubt that would waft off of her while he leaned in made him remember the taste of her heartbreak again, and it would steel him into submission. He wouldn't kiss her. Because if his ghost was more powerful, he would be better able to protect people. To protect her. So it was for the better of everyone if he remained alone and unlucky in love.

'_But not for Sam' _a little voice would whisper to him, but he was quick to ignore it, even if it was right.

She was blushing lightly, he noted, because he was holding her hand. They were walking back to FentonWorks, Sam flanked to his left and Tucker to his right. Tucker never complained of his odd third wheel status, but from the corner of his eye, he glared at Danny, because he had the feeling that Danny still wasn't ready to admit his feelings for Sam, even though he was a holding her hand.

When they climbed up the steps into the house, Jazz was quick to greet them and her eyes automatically darted to their entangled fingers.

"Did—" the question was on the tip of her tongue, as she eyes scanned the faces of the trio. Sam averted her eyes, Danny looked clueless at the her question and Tucker grimaced. "Nope," he answered her. Danny let go of Sam's hand, and waited for her emotions to reach him but found nothing awaiting him. He dared a peak at her and found her eyes closed and she looked to be exhaling from her nose before shaking her head and smiling at Jazz, "Don't get your hopes up, Fenton," she chastised jokingly and Jazz visibly deflated.

As did Danny.

Was she...not getting her hopes up anymore?

He made for the kitchen to collect his thoughts. Was it selfish of him to have always expected her despair to come? Was it cruel—ghostly—for him to want it to come? While other's emotions surely sufficed enough to keep him afloat, he was coming to realize that he was a bit of an addict.

He had his arm rummaging around intangibly in a cabinet looking for chips when Tucker walked in. "Man, you cannot be _that _clueless, can you?"

Danny blinked at him in surprise, "Clueless? What do you mean?"

He knew exactly what Tucker meant.

Tucker scowled, but he was loath to bring up Sam's feelings, seeing as she trusted him to guard her secret. "Why do you flirt with Sam?"

"F-flirt? I-I don't flirt with Sam—"

Tucker took the chips Danny fished out and held them flush against his chest like a baby, "Ya know? Sometimes I think you're pretending to be this clueless."

Danny tried not to grimace, "Don't know what you're talking about, man." And he walked back out of the kitchen to stare at Sam who was laughing with Jazz about something. He could barely admit his dirty little secret to himself, let alone Tucker. He shook his head with his resolve. He couldn't afford to be less powerful or else he wouldn't be able to protect his friends, family or the town. He clenched and unfurled his first, feeling his ghost pulse at the action as his veins throbbed, peeking up again at Sam from beneath his bangs. It was worth sacrificing their hearts if he could keep everyone safe, wasn't it? She laughed again and he continued to stare, unsure if he had made the right decision.

* * *

**A/N: **I wrote the prompt: "Danny purposefully doesn't admit his feelings to Sam because he likes to feed off the negative emotions of rejection that wave off of her to rejuvenate his ghost side" literally at like 1:13 AM so hopefully it makes sense.

1/29/19: I became a bit unsatisfied with the end. I was try to push an agenda that wasn't working so I rewrote it, cutting the "love part." I was given a good idea for a possible sequel involving that idea and I might get around to that someday. For now, this remains a one-shot.


End file.
